


Our Life Is Not A Movie or Maybe

by cherylbombshells



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Internet Famous, Post-Canon, but the premise is there!, pretty much just fluff with an attempt at comedy, with very little fake dating shenanigans admittedly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherylbombshells/pseuds/cherylbombshells
Summary: A spur of the moment decision on live TV turns Dot's life from a survival movie into a romantic comedy.
Relationships: Dot Campbell & Shelby Goodkind, Dot Campbell/Fatin Jadmani
Comments: 17
Kudos: 117
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Our Life Is Not A Movie or Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).



> These two are a complete delight to write for, and I was so happy to see someone requesting them (also requesting Shelby & Dot was a perfect bonus!). I've always wanted to write a fake dating fic, and while this is clearly not a full fledged fake dating fic, with all the regular fake dating hijinks and shenanigans, the set up kinda just came to me, and it seemed perfect and I hope you like it.
> 
> Everyone is alive and Nora may or may not have betrayed them, but if she did, they’re over it.

The media blitz tour that follows their rescue is almost as bad as the experiment itself was.

Dot would never say that out loud to the other girls, especially Rachel, ‘cause, like, she lost her whole hand in a fucking shark attack and everything, but it’s true.

At least for her, it is.

Because sure, the island sucked balls, but Dot had been in her element; a lot more there than she is now, in front of blinding lights, flashing cameras, and massive microphones.

She gets it, their story is fucking crazy, and if she was on the other side of it, she’d be eating this shit up, no question, but from _this_ side?

Dot hates every minute of it.

She’s used to blending in and fading into the background, not being one of the people at the center of attention. The interviews and appearances and questions are all endless, and while some of the others thrive off of it - and by others, she mostly means _Fatin_ \- she doesn’t.

And yet still, even back on the mainland, Dot can’t fight her instinct to take care of her friends, even if that means pulling that bright, blinding spotlight over to shine directly on herself.

It’s just a regular interview for some small show - not even, like, the View or Ellen or something legit like that - when the question comes up.

After the endless cycle of exhausting back to back interviews they’ve done for the past week, they’ve pretty much heard all the same questions over and over again, and have all perfected their standard answers, too. It’s not very often someone has managed to come up with something original to ask, so imagine their surprise when they not only get a question they’ve never gotten before, but one that actually bowls them right the fuck over.

“It’s no secret that this harrowing experience bonded the eight of you together,” the host says in a practiced - and lowkey patronizing - soft tone. She gives them that pressed lip, tight smile of sympathy Dot remembers everyone giving her back when her dad died - she hates it now as much as she did then. “But according to a source who had access to Gretchen Klein’s research, it went beyond just friendship for two of you girls. So I have to ask, is there any truth to that claim? Was there a romance between two of you on the island?”

Considering Dot’s heart almost fucking stops, she’d bet good money that Shelby’s has probably fallen right out of her ass.

The other girls look around at each other awkwardly, knowing it’s not their place to answer, yet not knowing what else to do, and one glance at the scared blonde and the girl pressed closely against her side gives Dot a really fucking bad idea.

But Shelby looks panicked and terrified - considering her asshole father is in the studio, standing somewhere behind the blinding white lights, Dot doesn’t blame her - and Toni looks helpless, and Dot just has to save their asses one more time.

“If I’d worn my cargo shorts, you wouldn’t have even had to ask,” she jokingly answers smoothly and casually, coming off more personable than she has all week.

The host looks both surprised and a little let down by what is seemingly the best she’s going to get out of them, but just as Dot’s hoping she’ll take her half answer and drop it, Fatin’s swooping in from her other side to make everything worse.

“Yes, Joanne, it’s true,” she confirms in a syrupy sweet voice, leaning into Dot so she can wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her closer. “Dorothy and I fell in love - as the great poet Rihanna once prophesied - in a hopeless place.”

Fatin presses a firm kiss to her cheek and then starts blathering on, making up some epic love story on the spot, and Dot can only hope the camera stays zoomed in on Fatin and not on her, as she scowls at the other girl from beside her.

“You didn’t have to do that, Dottie,” Shelby says as soon as the interview is done and they’re all tucked away from prying eyes and ears backstage.

Dot shrugs, avoiding all three remaining sets of eyes trained on her. “It’s cool. Not like I got anyone’s reaction back home to worry about.”

Shelby’s face falls a bit, knowing she can’t say the same; she might have finally stopped fighting herself and learned to accept her sexuality, but Dot knows that’s only half of the very uphill battle she’s got in front of her and she doesn’t envy her one bit.

“Still,” the blonde insists quietly, pushing past whatever emotions that have been stirred up to reach forward and give Dot’s hand a squeeze. “ _Thank you_.”

Dot nods, not sure what to say back, but Fatin cuts in and saves her the trouble.

“ _Hello,_ what about _my_ heroics?”

“Please, that was no sacrifice,” Toni scoffs from Shelby’s side, glaring at the newest member of the conversation. “Playing Dot’s girlfriend for attention is like your wet dream.”

As unapologetic and proud as she is, Dot knows it must have killed Toni to have to deny herself up there, but she probably figured it’ll be easier to stick close to Shelby if her raging homophobe of a dad doesn’t know she’s a lesbian, so Fatin gets to be on the receiving end of her frustrations.

“Yeah, well, _you’re welcome,_ ” Fatin scoffs right back, not denying it.

Dot tries to be annoyed with her still, but her indignation is too ridiculous not to smile at, just a little.

“ _Yeah, well_ , thanks for the save, but pretending to be gay for social media clout isn’t cool,” Toni retorts, not giving an inch, as always.

“Who’s pretending?” Fatin wonders rhetorically, raising a challenging eyebrow. “I’m fluid as fuck, and come on, are we really still acting like we buy Dorothy’s completely hetero?”

Now it’s Dot’s turn to scoff, but she doesn’t deny it, either; the cargo shorts have spoken.

Toni doesn’t look at all impressed, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowing even further. “You do know that having a threesome with another girl doesn’t make you qualified to wave the rainbow flag, right?”

“I don’t know, it felt pretty gay when I was eating her p-”

“Okay, okay, let’s forget about the semantics,” Shelby interrupts their squabbling before it can get too vulgar. “Regardless of what’s problematic or not, thank you both for doing what y’all did out there; you really saved my ass.”

Dot nods again while Fatin just beams, still so damn proud of herself, and not even Toni shoulder checking her as she leads the blonde away dims her mood.

“You’re totally gonna milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” Dot surmises once they’re alone, leveling her new fake girlfriend with a look of her own.

Fatin’s smile only widens. “Yes, obviously. Absolutely, yes,” she confirms obnoxiously, taking out her phone and pulling Dot in for a selfie. “Now smile and say _Instagram official._ ”

Dot tries to keep her face blank, and it only wavers slightly when Fatin presses another noisy kiss to her cheek as she snaps the picture.

As she watches the girl fuss over what filter to use and what the best caption for their bullshit coming out post is, Dot gives a resigned sigh.

Rom-coms and chick flicks aren’t really her genre of choice, but she’s seen enough of them to already have a pretty good idea of how this particular movie is going to end.

(When Fatin asks what her Instagram handle is so she can tag her in the post and Dot informs her she doesn’t have one and never will, they get into their first - but also hundredth - fight.)

*

By the time they move into their apartment in LA almost a month later - on 1600 Vine, where all the influencers live, just as they’d planned - they’re apparently influencers themselves.

Well, Fatin is, according to the fancy little blue checkmark on her Instagram and the insane amount of money she gets just for posting some rando product, but Dot still doesn’t have an account, so she likes to consider herself merely an influencer by association.

(Though, she was somehow convinced to participate in a shared YouTube channel with her faux girlfriend, so if that makes her an influencer, well then, fuck her.)

The attention from their insane beach vacay from Hell has all but faded already, to the point Dot would probably know peace by now if Fatin hadn’t roped her into this dumb scheme, but as it is, it’s at least more bearable.

It’s not like they’re getting chased by the paparazzi or anything, so the only camera that gets shoved in her face regularly is being held by Fatin, who at least cuts it out when she threatens to punch her in the throat enough times.

Still, it’s not Dot’s definition of normal by any stretch of the word, and she hopes it never is; as cheesy as it is, she just wants this place to feel like it’s her home.

Because moderate internet fame isn’t the only culture shock Dot experiences by moving in with Fatin - the difference between living in Dallas and living in LA is no joke.

Everything is sunny and bright, palm trees and bikinis every-fucking-where and it’s a lot more like the movies than she expected it to be.

She’s not sure she fits in yet, but it’s not like she really fit in anywhere back home, either, not with her dad gone, and at least here she has Fatin, so.

Dot adapts, just like she always does.

Beyond all the ways Fatin and her quest for middling social media stardom annoy her, Dot had to admit that the girl otherwise does a good job of making sure she’s doing well and settling in.

She drags her to parties, introduces her to all of her friends (as her girlfriend, _ugh_ ) and even brings her along to the weekly family dinners she reluctantly agreed to attend.

(Dot’s pretty sure that one's more for Fatin’s benefit than her own - moral support facing her shitbag dad and doormat mom and all - but friendship goes both ways.)

Plus, it’s not like Dot is the only one taking some L’s with this whole fake dating arrangement.

“Okay, as hung as he was, that was _so_ not worth the stress,” Fatin declares as drags herself into their apartment late one night.

She’d gone out alone for the first time since Dot moved in, determined to finally get some dick like she was always talking about on the island. Dot had been supportive - or at least pretended to be - but drew the line at being her wing woman, and opted to stay home.

“Abstinence didn’t make your junk grow fonder?” she teases from her spot on the couch, a movie she used to watch with her dad playing on the big flatscreen TV and a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

She pats the cushion beside her and laughs when her roommate throws herself down on it in a huff.

“I spent the whole time worried someone was gonna see us together and take our picture or something,” she whines, kicking her feet up over Dot’s lap as she instinctively pulls out her phone to absentmindedly check her notifications in search of validation. “I’m a highly recognizable face now, Dorothy, I can’t be risking fumbling my bag just for some dick. I refuse to be one of _those_ girls.”

Dot holds back a laugh, thinking Fatin is more than a little deluded, but doesn’t bother telling her so.

If Fatin wants to give up sleeping around to keep up the charade she started and appear loyal to her fake girlfriend, well, who is Dot to stop her?

Speaking of dick and previous plans to hop on them, it takes Mateo a couple months to finally call Dot, but when he does, she’s happy to hear from him.

They catch up for about an hour - Dot has a lot more to say than he does, naturally - and it isn’t until right before they hang up that he tells her he saw the news about her and Fatin.

Dot’s not sure if that’s why he called or what - he’s always been as much of a recluse and loner as her, so it wouldn’t be surprising if it took him this long to find out what the few other people from her old life heard right away - but she’s not sure what to say.

They never were anything - even though she knew he had feelings for her, she was never sure what she felt back - and she owes him even less, but she likes talking to him and he feels like the only link she has left to home.

So when Mateo tells her he’s happy for her and sounds like he means it, Dot tells him to call back next Thursday so they can watch the premiere of the new Survivor season together, like she would have with her dad.

He promises he will.

If Dot were more clueless than she is, she might be confused by the way Fatin starts acting distant in the following weeks, but because she’s an expert at every trope there is, she’s not.

They’re already at the part in the movie where the line between fake feelings and real feelings is starting to blur, and misunderstandings are ripe for the making.

“Can you film a video with me tonight or are you expecting a call from your _boyfriend_?” Fatin asks as she hangs in the doorway of her bedroom, speaking in a tone she probably thinks is nonchalant, but in reality, is anything but.

Dot bites back a smile, but doesn’t correct her. “I can do tonight.”

That doesn’t completely please Fatin, but it’s enough to pull the pout from her lips at least, and then she disappears down the hall.

Dot knows it’s a bit of a dick move, but Fatin’s not the only one that enjoys being a little shit stirrer sometimes.

“When are you gonna put that poor girl out of her misery?” Shelby wonders with a laugh, sounding a lot better and lighter than the last time they spoke.

They don’t get to talk often, what with her homophobe dad thinking Dot’s an evil lesbian and all, but Shelby always eventually finds a way.

“Dunno,” Dot pretends to ponder. “When she puts me out of mine?”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” the blonde insists all knowingly, and probably a little enviously. “You know you love it deep down.”

Dot definitely wouldn’t say _love_ , or maybe even like - the most she’ll cop to is that she’s gotten used to it, and even then, only to herself.

“Like I’d love a bed full of sand fleas,” she deadpans, and she knows the other girl is shuddering on the other end of the phone.

“Don’t remind me, Dottie,” she whines dramatically. “Or I’ll have to remind you that _you’re_ the one that started this whole mess in the first place.”

 _To save_ your _ass_ , Dot wants to remind her, but doesn’t; she’s sure Shelby would love nothing more than to be able to post about Toni as freely as Fatin has been posting about Dot, after all, so there’s no reason to rub it in.

“How are things going with that on your end, anyways?” Dot wonders carefully, knowing that the answer wasn’t _well_ the last time they talked, with her dad or with Toni, apparently.

“Oh, they’re goin’,” the blonde tells her with a sigh, three words saying so much, and Dot settles in to hear all about it.

“Mateo’s not my boyfriend,” Dot makes sure to tell Fatin the next time she calls him that. “We just talk.”

They’re out for lunch at the kitschy little cafe a block around the corner from their apartment.

“About what? How hard his dick is for you?”

Dot rolls her eyes fondly, wondering why she finds this girl and all her most annoying traits so endearing.

“Stuff I’d talk about with my dad,” she explains patiently. “Survivor and Man vs Wild, my old neighbor that used to forget his pants when he went outside, Guns N’ Roses; shit I don’t have anyone else to talk to about. Not here.”

Fatin’s quiet for a moment as she digests the answer, and Dot can see the guilt written all over her face.

But instead of apologizing for being flippant and petty, she just says, “You can talk to me about that stuff, too. I mean, not instead of Mateo, you can talk to him about whatever, I don’t care, but… You can talk to me about it, too.”

Dot smiles at her rare show of sincerity, even though she already knew that.

“What do you know about Man vs Wild?” she teases, nudging the other girl’s foot with her own under the table.

“I know Bear Grylls could get it,” is her all too predictable answer, and just like that, any misunderstandings are understood.

Fatin joins Dot and Mateo for Survivor that Thursday night, making sure she’s in front of the TV at exactly 8 PM sharp, with a plate of leftovers and a crib sheet open on her notes app with all the info on the remaining contestants and the episodes she’s missed.

“And you called _me_ a fucking geek,” Dot teases her, but she’s touched by her friend’s effort, and judging by the look she’s being given, it shows.

“Yeah, well, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I half-assed this? Even though it was high key triggering,” Fatin plays it off with a shrug and a barely contained grin. “So who’s your money on? I think Brenda’s got it in the bag.”

“No fucking way,” Dot swiftly shoots back firmly. “I bet you, any odds, it’s gonna be Brooke.”

She just says it as figure of speech, not meaning it literally, but when Fatin takes her up on her bet, with no way of knowing of all the other times she’s made dumb wagers over stupid reality TV shows with her dad, Dot feels a sudden urge to hug the girl sitting beside her.

“Careful, Fatin, Dot never loses,” Mateo’s voice warns her through the speaker of her phone, and as Dot listens to the two of them go back and forth about their theories, with the absolute dumbest smile on her face, she wonders if this is the act where she starts falling, too.

*

So, yeah.

Dot’s in love with Fatin.

It didn’t happen quickly or all at once - it’s been almost seven months since this stupid ass charade started and six months since they moved in together like planned - but somewhere along the way, Dot ended up exactly where she knew she would, without even noticing until it was too late.

Maybe it started when they shared a sleeping bag on the camping trip they took Fatin’s brothers on or the first time she heard her play the cello; maybe it was the way she’d perch herself on Dot’s lap and whisper gossipy trash talk in her ear everytime they hung out with her friends or the first time she kissed her cheek even when nobody else was around; maybe it really was that night she started watching Survivor with her, when she unknowingly and so easily made this apartment - and LA - finally feel like home.

Or maybe it happened long before that, before they ever even got off the island in the first damn place.

Dot can’t pinpoint any one moment, because there probably isn’t even one, she just knows when she first noticed it and that it’s where she’s at now - ass backwards in love with the most frivolous, obnoxious, ridiculous, funny and amazing girl she’s ever met.

After more couples selfies, #WomenCrushWednesdays and Youtube videos than she can count, Dot’s exactly where she knew she was always doomed to end up.

The only consolation is that she knows Fatin’s right there with her, because she’s the least subtle person on the planet and _of course_ she is.

What kind of a shit movie would this be if she wasn’t?

Still, Dot hasn’t done anything about it, not yet.

There’s really nothing special about the moment Dot says something.

It’s just a moment like so many others, the two of them sitting on the couch in their living room; Fatin is babbling on about trolls trying to expose them for being fake, and Dot is half listening on with an amused and fond smile, not caring about any of it.

“We seriously need to step up our PDA game,” Fatin declares, keeping her eyes on the screen for a few moments longer before she finally drags them over to the girl beside her. “And _you_ need to start initiating more affection in our videos, nobody’s buying you as a bottom.”

“You know you can just kiss me, right?” Dot tells her around a laugh, and she says it so casually and naturally, it’s hard to believe it’s something that’s been on the tip of her tongue for weeks.

Fatin can’t seem to believe it either, because her eyes narrow as she gapes at her. “I beg your presumous pardon?”

“If you wanna kiss me so bad, just do it,” she repeats with a smirk, but this time with a slight challenge in her tone. “Like, you don’t gotta pretend it’s all to sell some bullshit _hashtag couple goals_ schtick online.”

The other girl recovers from her surprise quickly, and does a good job playing it off as always. “Are you saying you want me to want to kiss you, Dorothy?”

“I’m saying I know you want to,” Dot clarifies unnecessarily. “And since I know you’re not as dumb as your shirts suggest, I know you know I want you to.”

“Okay, now I’m confused,” Fatin pouts, and Dot wishes she wasn’t so far gone that she finds it adorable.

She rolls her eyes and pokes the girl in her skinny little side. “Are you gonna kiss me or not, Princess?”

That gets a wide ass smile on Fatin’s face. “Now there’s that top energy the people have been looking for,” she jokes, even as she leans closer.

“Yeah, well, guess I’ve been saving it just for you,” Dot muses lowly, as her eyes flutter closed and her lips close around Fatin’s bottom one just as softly. There’s no fireworks or passion, just warmth and familiarity and love, and it’s perfect. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teases when they finally pull back, matching smiles on their faces.

“Speak for yourself,” Fatin scoffs, breaking the comfortable, quiet moment as she reels back and waves around the phone that’s still in her hand. “I’ve been exhausting myself trying to come up with reasons to mack on you for months. I’ve got poor Martha creating a new burner account every other week to troll my IG comments.”

Dot barely stops herself from cackling at that; she didn’t think Fatin had been _that_ desperate yet.

“You are by far the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met,” she laughs at her, but her words are dripping with an obvious fondness.

“Thank you,” Fatin beams, pressing her phone to her chest, as if knowing what Dot really means is that she’s the best. “Right back atcha, Dorothy.”

When they kiss again, Fatin can’t resist taking a picture of it, but the only places she shares it is in the Unsinkable Eight’s group chat.

Everyone’s happy for them, but apparently nobody is surprised.

It doesn’t take long for Fatin to realize that the one downside of her fake dating scam is that she doesn’t get the attention she’s craving once they’re really together.

No real _Instagram official_ picture can truly be posted, and no flood of congratulatory comments or messages will come with it.

Nobody but six other girls know the difference when Fatin posts their first couples selfie that’s actually legit, but for Dot, those six comments in a sea of hundreds are the only ones she listens to when the other girl reads them to her.

(Shelby and Toni have their big social media coming out a few months later, complete with all of those things, and even though Fatin pouts and pretends to be annoyed, Dot knows the long, sappy and only slightly raunchy comment she leaves on their post on behalf of both of them, comes right from her heart.)

Nothing much changes with them, online or in real life, because really, they were always being more real than they were fake.

Dot doesn’t know shit about relationships and Fatin claims to know nothing about love, but they know how to be with each other, and it turns out, that’s more than good enough.

She will admit that Fatin is a slightly more obnoxious real girlfriend than she was a fake one, but for some fucking reason - Stockholm Syndrome, is Toni’s theory - Dot’s into that, so she doesn’t complain.

Well, she _does_ , of course, but it’s always with a barely contained smile.

It’s over a year before Fatin is finally about to convince Dot to make an Instagram account for herself, but when she does, she keeps it private.

She only follows seven people and only seven people follow her.

Everything she shares on it - the ugly selfies, the embarrassing pictures of her girlfriend, and the cringe worthy hashtags; all the love - is reserved just for them.

**Author's Note:**

> To my recipient, I hope you enjoyed this. To anyone else that read it, I hope you enjoyed it, too. Please let me know if you did, I'd appreciate any feedback you have.


End file.
